


Like Sand Through The Fingers

by BlackVelvet42



Series: For Her [3]
Category: Star Trek: Voyager
Genre: BDSM, Bondage, Consensual Kink, Eventual Happy Ending, F/M, Fluff and Smut, Hurt/Comfort, Light Angst, Multiple Orgasms, Porn with Feelings, Romance, Rough Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-25
Updated: 2017-08-25
Packaged: 2018-12-19 11:45:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,338
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11897079
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BlackVelvet42/pseuds/BlackVelvet42
Summary: "If only they had met in different circumstances and half a lifetime earlier. They could've been so happy."





	Like Sand Through The Fingers

**Author's Note:**

> Sequel to "For Her" and "No Price Too High".

She stands in the darkness of the holodeck, staring at the illuminated bed that's not supposed to be there.

He's never forgotten it before and she wonders why he did now. But her body immediately admits what her mind tries to evade and the familiar choking feeling returns.

The rules were simple.

It's meant to be a void, waiting for her like a fresh canvas. Nothingness, until she gives it substance and form. And he's expected to delete everything before ending the program.

Always changing, shaped by her impulses. No meaning, no purpose, no goal, except pleasure - and oblivion.

A space where she can stop thinking for just a while, breathe easier without the constant stress that makes her restless and tense and her head hurt like hell.

A moment when she can leave behind all the voices, around her and inside of her, wanting something from her.

To command, to lead, to decide. To be daring but cautious, intuitive but rational. To delegate control but to carry the weight of the ultimate responsibility. To uphold principles in this quadrant that tempts her to bend or break them at every turn. To hold together this crew she sentenced to exile, to protect the fragile lives under her charge, and to deliver on a promise she made when she still believed it could be done before it became but a burden, tearing her slowly apart every second of every waking hour until she comes to this blessed silence.

But now the bed is there and she can't reach that peace. Nor can she manage the words that would erase it and she sinks down on the cold concrete floor.

It's the only thing he's added to this program she created, the one thing constant. The bed he always carries her to, after.

She's never really looked at it. Because when he summons it, she's usually drunk with the remains of her pain and pleasure turned into a divine numbness and she's beyond noticing her surroundings or caring about anything.

It's so plain, yet adequate for its purpose. Large enough for the both of them, soft enough to lull to her a dreamless sleep with his touches.

And all white.

Why did he choose it to be like this? Pure, simple, white. Like lilies or snow or her pale skin next to the sun-kissed tone of his.

Or a reflection of innocence, defying the abyss surrounding it.

She can almost see her blood on it, so often staining that perfection. The crude color of her ugliness, defiling everything around her.

A reminder of another mistake she's made, another wrong she's selfishly carried on.

It's been a week, this is when they usually meet. But he won't come here tonight. Because she knows she's finally crossed the line in an endless ocean of self-indulgent passions where they lost their way a long time ago.

Finally. It's such a relief.

 

***

 

The mutual attraction sparked between them the first moment their eyes locked.

If only they had met in different circumstances and half a lifetime earlier. They could've been so happy.

Following a natural path that undefined pull led to stealthy glances and lingering touches, stolen moments of lips and bodies joining in haste, shaded by duties and loved ones left behind, but fulfilling pressing needs, making each day of survival and command that much easier to endure.

And relieving a growing ache inside she found no other means to deal with.

He was, by far, the most talented lover she'd ever had. For that reason alone, she was in no hurry to end it.

Furthermore, he was attentive and open-minded, willing to go to any length for her - without asking too much.

But the questions were there in his eyes, a multitude of them, waiting to be answered. Along with his need to share what they experienced together, to give and receive on more levels than just this one.

Sometimes, he pushed gently against the boundary she had set between them.

She didn't want to think of it as manipulating him, but deep down, she knew that was precisely what she was doing. Bending people to her will without them being aware of it was one of her talents and she used all her resources to keep him at bay.

Only he was resolute and persistent too, challenging her with a mind of his own, and didn't succumb to being a mere puppet in her play. And his feelings for her turned out running deeper than she'd thought. Why was that, she could never figure out.

It was a silent battle of dominance, the kind that mattered the most, but she had a slight upper hand because of his more tender emotions. And by her decision, they never crossed over to actual closeness.

Everything changed after the incident. The one that nearly ended her life when she told him to bind her and he obeyed, wrapping the ropes around her body and her neck, deliciously tight, cutting off the air to her lungs when he fucked her like a dog, making her come so hard she didn't think it was humanly possible.

And stopping her heart in the process.

A stupid mistake, she thought later, one that could've easily been avoided with some caution. But she'd been too caught up in the heat of the moment to consider what she was asking for and he'd been too trusting of her to realize what was within reason.

Even without the telltale sign of him efficiently avoiding eye contact with her, it wasn't difficult to guess what he was going through.

On the verge of giving up, concluding it was too much for him, this spiraling madness of her reckless requests he didn't understand. And how could he, when she didn't always understand them herself. If things were reversed, she would've ended it in a heartbeat.

This time, there was no way to influence his choices. So she kept away from him, praying every night for the gods she didn't believe in, that he would not terminate this arrangement she'd grown to depend on.

Because it wasn't the possibility of dying she was afraid of, it was the prospect of living, without him. Her lifeline.

In the end, she had to make a concession.

The manner in which he made his next move was every bit as dirty as she deserved. Asking her if he could take her to bed and just hold her, but not before he ensured she was in a state where no cognizant decisions were possible.

Teasing her relentlessly, bringing her close and withdrawing, denying her release over and over again until she was out of her mind, and then making her climax so many times she lost count and eventually hovered on the brink of unconsciousness.

Though she couldn't recall, it was possible she agreed to his request in that moment of weakness. But when he came to repeat the act, of spooning her and caressing her in the soft bed afterward, she realized there was no real need to object.

At that point, she'd already got what she wanted. The biting, the fisting, the twisting, the whipping. All the pain she could take and so much more, overwhelming her with a symphony of sensations, always leading to an orgasm that ripped her world apart and left her mind blank.

If it kept him coming back to her, this tenderness that was both unnecessary and out of place, it was a small price to pay.

For a while, it seemed like they'd found a balance. And what a pair they were.

Her imagination flew wild and free, conjuring up intense scenes beyond logic or reason, and he dived into her fantasies with dedication, soon getting so good and precise in pleasuring her that she suspected he was devoting more to it than just their hours together at the holodeck.

A deep gratitude swelled inside of her, bringing tears to her eyes.

It was probably the kindest thing anyone had ever done for her. Not to judge her for her unusual desires, not to be disgusted by them, or to question or to moralize, but to accept and participate, even though she could see it wasn't all to his liking, but still letting her be who she was and not holding it against her later.

What she didn't calculate was how stealthily that closeness came to affect her, especially the time spent cradled in his arms on the white sheets.

Through the haze of her afterglow, she could feel his gentle touches and hear his soft whispers, growing bolder with each passing week, making her tense and wince at the intimacy.

She tried to push all that aside and concentrate solely on the heavenly bruises on her body and the coarse words still echoing in her mind. It was his private moment, it didn't really concern her.

But after every time, her defenses appeared to be getting weaker, his affection punching through her shields, evoking inside a vulnerability she had forgotten.

The secrets he breathed into her hair, how beautiful she was to him, what she meant to him, his hopes and dreams for them. He could've just as well declared his love.

She bit her lip and stayed still, but she couldn't close her ears and no matter how hard she tried what he said pierced through, pricking hot and salty behind her lids, wrapping around her chest tighter than any binding. Inflicting a different kind of pain she wasn't equipped to handle.

She didn't deserve it. She was none of the things he viewed her to be. He didn't know her.

And the more he soaked her with warm, sweet words, dripping over her like honey, the more violent became her demands. Attempting to reclaim control, counterbalance the shift in power, negate the meaning he was giving to their relationship, correct the course back to safer grounds.

Vaguely, she was aware that they had passed the point where the pain had the exquisite quality of heightening the pleasure and became just that, pain, with no other meaning than to keep him at a distance and the turbulence of emotion and memories inside of her repressed.

But it wasn't enough and everything she had carefully built over the years to protect herself was threatening to fall apart.

She thought she found a solution by ordering him to invite Tom to join them.

She thought he'd loathe her for it.

She wanted him to.

And to tell him to hit her, she was sure he'd be appalled. Perhaps refuse.

Yet, he surprised her once again, by doing all the things that she had asked for and more. Keeping everything as sane as they possibly could be and coming to her aid when she couldn't pull it through on her own. Helping her carry out another fantasy arising from the despair within her, no matter how he felt about it.

Tom was easy. Ripe and ready, maneuverable, and so gullible.

She saw the worship in his eyes, felt the sincerity and depth of feeling as he pleasured her, and she bathed in it. Knowing Chakotay was in the shadows, witnessing how she let another man touch her, taste her, plunge into her body like it was worth nothing, like the act had never meant more to her than a quick release anyone was adequate to offer, and how she enjoyed every second of that vulgarity, was strangely soothing.

He would never mistake her for anything beautiful again.

And if by some miracle he would choose to continue their arrangement, he would be devoid of anything tender or caring, and she would be able to breathe again.

But after, he took her to bed like he always did. Lying behind her, warm and solid, holding her like she was valuable, sacred.

His hands and voice trembled with hurt and sorrow and something broken, but even still, he was whispering words of comfort and commitment and all the love she never thought she would hear from anyone ever again.

The extent of her mistake stroke through her like lightning.

Immeasurable.

Gasping at the shock, she could not get away fast enough. Still dizzy and weak, she got up and grabbed her clothes, though she was barely able to stand. Stumbling back to her quarters, her mind reeling with a merciless replay of choices and actions that felt justified and necessary at the time but were now impossible to grasp.

Seducing him, luring him into a web of lust, using his feelings to get what she wanted, never once asking what he might need, manipulating him consciously and repeatedly, for her own twisted purposes without any consideration what it might be doing to him.

Sacrificing everything she believed in about duty and honor and responsibility and principles she held so high, because of a passion and a past that was slipping out of control. Abusing both her rank and the loyalty of two men who would give their lives for her.

And destroying her chance for real happiness.

The horror and remorse that followed didn't pass after a sleepless night spent sweating and shaking in a nightmare of her own doing, not after a conventional shift showing no change in either man's demeanor, not after she struggled to dive into work that felt more of a burden than ever.

It settled into her chest, weighing on her like a gravestone, draining the life out of her.

 

***

  

She felt his footsteps closing in behind her, his warmth and scent radiating like an invisible touch as he sat down by her side, breathing her name even though he didn't say anything.

She couldn't understand why he came, what he could want from her anymore.

"You forgot the bed," she said, startled by the weakness, the defeat, in her voice.

He remained silent, but she could sense he was watching, waiting, and hesitantly, she turned to him.

When was the last time she truly looked at him, and saw him?

His dark hair threaded with silver, the tattoo she could draw in her sleep, the curve of his lips she could feel on her skin, his thoughtful eyes that reached into her soul.

Once the tears started flowing there was no stopping them. Nor did she want to.

"Talk to me, Kathryn," he said softly, but didn't touch her like he would've usually done, and she bent her head in shame.

What could she possibly say, after everything she'd done? When every word frightened her and no amount of words would be enough?

How could she describe years of loneliness and sadness now, when she'd avoided facing that truth for so long, scared it might be the end of her if she did?

How could she paint a picture of her life so that anyone could understand? When everyone saw only the captain, but not the woman behind?

Or the girl before, hungry for life.

Determined to achieve everything, not willing to compromise or settle for anything less. Seeing obstacles as opportunities and failures as essential to mastery, convinced that there was no reason why it couldn't all be hers for the taking.

To travel through the endless universe, to witness the birth and death of stars and civilizations, to defy the boundaries of space and time and her own mind and body alike.

And to find someone who would share those mysteries with her.

Joining Starfleet was a given, a gate to it all. She thrived on the science, the challenge, and the complexity and there, she met Justin. It all came together so perfectly, she should have known better.

She loved him like only a wild, young heart could, without fear, restrictions, or limits. The abrupt, violent ending of it took away too much. Not only her fiancé and her father and the amazing future she had planned, but her trust in life.

That comforting, fundamental certainty that she would sail through her years with ease, that joy and hope would always overcome fear and sorrow, that she had the possibility to decide the course of her destiny.

The deep depths she sank into never relinquished its hold on her, not really. It became a part of her. And she started growing new skin to where it had been stripped raw. Thicker by the year.

Throwing herself into work saved her in every way and through it, she accomplished what many others never could. She got to see the galaxy and all the wonders she had always dreamed of.

But she was alone.

Mark was convenient. Reliable. Undemanding. She should've felt more for him, the way he felt for her, but by then, that kind of affection was out of her reach. He probably knew this, but didn't mind. It was enough for both of them.

In between these two men were others. Nameless, faceless, long forgotten. Satisfying another kind of hunger in her life. No less, but no more.

Somewhere along the way she learned that she couldn't possibly have it all. The love, the stability, the passion. It was foolish to even try when she couldn't seem to get to keep any of it. Some integral part of her happiness was always drifting away, withering before she got to feel its full power.

The only part stable, the only thing she could accomplish, was her breathtaking career. The polished, glorious outer shield that gained her distinction, praise, and prestige, filling her days with many of the things she valued, but still leaving her hollow and yearning on the inside.

Chakotay changed everything. Every cold, hard fact in her life she had taken for granted.

He was her enemy who became her ally, her friend who became her lover. She invited him into her body, but he sneaked into her heart as well. He wasn't afraid of her, not her rank or her passion, but followed her desires and helped make them real, accepted her with all her darkness and all her flaws. Fulfilling her needs and completing her, on and off duty.

His presence gave her warmth and security, his words comfort and guidance, his body pleasures unlike anything she had ever known. He was the foundation of her sanity and inner peace on this cursed journey and he made it clear he would be there for her, always.

And for some reason she could not comprehend but never doubted, he loved her.

How could anyone be so much to another? It was terrifying.

Because the idea of gaining all that meant the possibility of losing just as much. How could she survive if for any reason he ceased to exist in her life?

His hand was not far from hers and she stared at it, remembering the tenderness beneath the strength, everything those hands had done to her by her request, and her head was swimming with all the things she wanted to tell him, but could not find the courage or the words.

How could she ever say how sorry she was for everything she put him through, this kind, gentle man with nothing but her best interest in mind?

How to make him realize he should stay as far away from her as he could because he would find nothing but misery with her?

She watched as his fingers inched closer and took her small hand into his, and a new dam of tears broke loose, his simple gesture tearing something inside her irrevocably apart.

"Talk to me, please," he repeated, a little more pleading this time and she lifted her eyes to his.

So tired of resisting, ready to yield, whatever came.

"I don't know where to start, Chakotay," she said, lips trembling and voice breaking under the strain of emotion.

And he let out a long, content breath, smiling like she'd just offered him all the riches in the world.

"Why don't we start from the beginning," he offered, "I'd really like to get to know you, Kathryn."


End file.
